Perry strangled.
When he recovered, his rage had crystallized in a definite course of action.
He looked at the Serve-All and he looked at his hands. Not enough. He needed something much more. His memory of history recalled such items as an axe and a sledge hammer, but such no longer existed.
But the plastic table had legs of substantial heft. A low growl rose in his throat as he grabbed the table and ripped it to pieces.
The dismayed Serve-All scuttled across the room to repair the damage.
Perry fended it off with his new club and then smashed downward, again and again, delighting in the screech of crushed metal and the tinkling death of transistors, vacuum tubes and servos.
At the center was the tiny reactor box, but that was of solid lead and steel, that, fortunately, was virtually impervious for radiation safety. But he didn't care. It was also inert and needn't be destroyed.